


Escapement

by Foxberry



Series: Jeankasa Week 2014 [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Snow, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxberry/pseuds/Foxberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious man leaves a package at Mikasa’s door. Jean is confronted by a woman at a farmer’s market, convinced she has seen him before.</p><p>Originally Day 4: Chance Meeting of Jeankasa Week 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escapement

**Author's Note:**

> es·cape·ment
> 
> 1a : a device in a timepiece which controls the motion of the train of wheelwork and through which the energy of the power source is delivered to the pendulum or balance by means of impulses that permit a tooth to escape from a pallet at regular intervals

It was early November. Wrapped and huddled in a blanket, feet cushioned in slippers and white mink earmuffs over her ears, Mikasa shuffled to the kitchen. A pot of a cold remedy simmered gently on the stove, its bubbling singing sweetly to her ears. The scent of honey, lemon and a whiff of echinacea wafted through the cottage.

Metal chinked against china as Mikasa languidly poured herself a cup of the concoction. It snuggled warmly in her hands, heat permeating into her as the smell teased at her sniffling, red nose. Resisting the urge to dive into it heartily, she took a tender, hesitant sip and savoured it as the lemon tingled at her lips and honey danced across her tongue. Trickling down her throat, it silenced the tickle that scratched at her impatiently. Another sip felt like welcome relief after a day of being swaddled in blankets and buried amongst pillows, trying desperately to catch up on sleep. A sigh escaped her lips at the closing of her eyes, feeling so heavy with lost sleep she had to will them to open again.

Three days of sniffles, coughing, and a painfully frustrating sense of lethargy had rendered Mikasa miserable. She spent her days moving little, tucked up on the couch under Armin’s orders. He’d convinced himself that all of Mikasa’s concerns were his to know since starting pre-med. More than they had been before. It was sweet, but intrusive and overbearing nonetheless. “Stay warm and rest” is what he had said, but the restlessness of being still and predominantly useless crawled under her skin, eating at whatever patience was still left.

Light through the glass doors shone onto the cold white tiles, reflecting the french doors it peeked through and adding a soft glow to the kitchen facing it. The fridge hummed, singing to itself in the quiet house, one of the few appliances making a sound. The swirling of the wind outside swept through the trees and dashed against the windows, shuddering them in their hinges. Outside, twigs fell to the ground, already covered with a light dusting of early winter snow. The chill had just set in, with frost clinging desperately to the corners of the windows’ glass.

She briefly searched through the fridge for something simple to eat. Her complete lack of energy and clouded head made an otherwise easy task take excruciatingly longer than it should have. After a minute or two of the passive yellow fridge light glowing in her face while the chilled air of the fridge stroked at it, she closed the door and collapsed against it. The groan she made as she slid down the fridge door sounded weak, guttural, and overall pathetic. It was not like her to be done in by something as feeble as the flu.

She sneezed loudly, jerking violently forward thrice as she sank to the ground, leaning forward to face the tiles below. The cold granite sapped the heat away from her legs as she struggled to push herself up to stand. Another groan resounded in the kitchen, echoing her pain and frustration back at her.

As she settled into her surrender after the third attempt, the doorbell sang out at her from across the cottage. Its song was shrill and light, as if fingers danced across her limbs, prodding at her to attempt standing once again. Doubting the speed of her movements, Mikasa called out, “Eren! Are you home?” A day of sleeping had left her unsure as to whether he would still be home or if he had already left for work. No voice answered her.

A shadow at the french doors stretched out across the floor. Agitated, it paced and turned, crossing back and forth across the tiles impatiently. This time a knock rang out, insistent and determined. Forgetting her blanket on the floor, Mikasa rose to her feet, alert, staring outside at the figure, shadow still shrouding its face.  
Without her eyes leaving it, she called out again, “Were you expecting someone today?”

Apparently struck by her voice and noticing her for the first time, the shadow stopped and seemed to jump in an almost comical fashion. It sunk quickly to the ground, leaving a bundle before its feet, and before Mikasa had made more than a step, it sprinted away into the snow.  
“Wait!” her voice croaked out; a violent, throaty cough followed. Once out of her mouth, her voice disappeared as her cold clasped tightly to her throat.

Mikasa stumbled to the doors and leaned against them. Her hand pressed against the cold window as she stared out into the garden for the figure. She spied a man with blond and brown hair disappearing into the trees.

Taking a deep breath, she sighed against the window, her hot breath fogging up the glass. Her eyes then dropped down to a small basket before the door. Mikasa suspiciously unwrapped the red and white cloth. Inside she found a blueberry and almond muffin, a small tin of green tea flavoured with honey and vanilla, and lastly, poking up out of the cloth and wrapped delicately in clear cellophane, was a single red tulip. Its bud had just begun to bloom.

Giving little thought to her condition, she swiftly threw open the other door and ran outside, discarding her slippers in her rush. Bare feet met the ice cold grass, the thin layer of snow melting under her footsteps, a yard between each one. Her grey eyes pierced through the trees and shrubs around her but caught nothing in their first sweep. The second caught a trail of boot prints, leading off into the distance down the hill. She could just make out the man who had run away. His hair caught in her mind as a curious brown undercut with a blond shock of hair across the top.

She gave chase, coughing and wheezing as she pushed herself forward. Her pyjamas were wet to her ankles and helped little in her pursuit. No matter how much she pushed herself on, Mikasa simply did not have enough energy to catch up with him. She promptly returned to the comfort of the cottage, keeping the tulip by her side for hours before she finally placed it in a vase.

 

* * *

 

It was late November. The farmer’s market was bustling with people when Jean arrived. The freshly brewed scent of cinnamon chai rose into the air, enticing him into the frenzy and warmth of the crowd. Voices called up about vegetables he had never heard of, and the overall growing buzz of chatter grew around him.

The weather had become gradually colder, and the 7am chill in particular ached in his bones. Zipping up his wool jacket, he nudged his way past a series of shoppers, tucking his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. He passed a small bakery stall with fresh muffins perched delicately on top of one another, a herbs and spices stall with leaves dangling from the roof, and a florist surrounded by sweet-smelling bouquets.

A voice called out from behind him. “Excuse me! Excuse me… sir?” It yelled into the busy crowd. Like the others around him who heard it, Jean turn around, confused. His eyes caught a woman coursing her way towards him with determination written all over her face. He stood silently, perplexed as to why such a striking woman, with her stormy, grey eyes, and long, dark hair that whipped around her face, had fixated on him.

He faced her with an open mouth as she stopped before him, waiting a moment for her to fill the silence before asking her, “Yes?”  
  
“Uh… hello,” she began, looking up at him with uncertainty. Her eyes looked up beyond his, unable to look away from his hair. “You look really familiar.”  
  
“Huh…” Jean looked her over again, trying to prevent himself from cringing as he wondered what he had done this time. Nothing about her seemed familiar to him. As far as he knew, they had never met. “Well, I’ve never seen you before.”  
  
She frowned, evidently unsatisfied with his answer, and crossed her arms as her eyes flickered down in thought. “Did you deliver something to someone’s door three weeks ago? At the cottage up the river from here?”  
  
“Look, I haven’t left anything at anyone’s door.” His hands rose up defensively. He became more cautious with what he was saying, slowing his speech. This might get complicated. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong guy.”

She began recounting her experience, every bit convinced that it was him. “I was sick, the doorbell rang, and when I answered, I could have sworn I saw you running away.”  
  
He paused for a bit, looking over her in a different light, and took a breath, carefully considering what to say next. He took a glance at his watch, checking the time and the date.  
“If you’re looking for someone to blame for something some jerk did, I’m not going to be that guy,” he finally said.  
  
“Not some jerk. You. You left a flower at my door.” Her persistence was admirable. Her feet tapped impatiently as nothing he said seemed to please her.  
  
“I haven’t done anything.”

She stepped forward, standing uncomfortably close before him, though she didn’t seem to notice. “I know it was you. I’d hardly forget that haircut.”  
  
Jean groaned, fingering his undercut absentmindedly. As attractive as he found her, she didn’t seem convinced. He was reasonably sure that he had not been anywhere near her home. “Nope. Still wasn’t me. I would have remembered someone as beautiful as you.”  
  
Jean blinked and stared, realising what he had just blurted out. They stared at each other for a moment. The woman seemed taken aback by his sudden outburst, and Jean could feel his face burning from his neck to his cheeks. “I mean…” he stuttered, scratching at his neck and avoiding her eyes. “I would have remembered you… if I was leaving flowers. It wasn’t me.”  
  
Finally satisfied with his answer, or perhaps, Jean thought, embarrassed for him, she relented. “Oh… well… okay then.”  
She walked away, taking one last glance at him with a confused look on her face, and shrugged as she disappeared into the crowd.

Jean covered his face. His cheeks still burned with embarrassment and he sighed, wandering back the way he came. “It never ends.” He spoke to himself quietly. “They always seem to find me.”  
His hands fiddled in his pockets as he stopped at the bakery, quickly ordering a half dozen muffins in a small basket. He tucked it up under his arm.  
“It becomes harder and harder to convince them,” he mumbled to himself, gesturing for emphasis. “It wasn’t me… but it seems like it has to be. _‘No, I don’t know you. I’ve just met you, but_ you’ve _met me before.’_ How do you tell someone _that_?”

He grew quiet as he approached the florist. The man behind the counter greeted him with a warm smile. Jean placed a single flower before the man, dropping his change on the counter.  
“A red tulip?” the man asked cheerfully as he wrapped it in clear cellophane. “Someone’s lucky. Is it for anyone special?”  
  
Jean shrugged and smiled, taking the flower and tucking it into his basket. “I don’t know yet. She’s awfully pretty though.”  
  
“Well…” The man winked at him. “Best of luck.”

Jean nodded, meandering out into the crowd again, raising his watch to check the date again. The numerous dials of the large black face shone up at him as the sunlight hit it. He pulled a face, looking around him in a cautious manner before his eyes returned to the watch. He tapped and tilted the glass to make sure all the dials were correct. He spoke to himself again, searching his memory. “She said three weeks ago, didn’t she?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and want to share it on Tumblr, you can find the Tumblr post [here](http://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/post/104557231662/escapement-jeankasa-week-day-4-chance-meeting).
> 
> I would love to hear your feedback here or you can also find me on [Tumblr](https://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or on my writing only blog [Foxberry Writes](http://foxberrywrites.tumblr.com/).


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